Vacation on Anika XII
by Jimperbam
Summary: While the Enterprise undergoes maintenance at the space station Anika XII, her crew takes advantage of their free time to engage in some shore leave shenanigans. A series of short, somewhat related one shots.
1. Drunk Philosophy

Aloha, friends! I hope you're not getting tired of me. As always, thank you all so much for the favorites and reviews on So He IS Self-Aware and Jim's Observation Deck. You all are so fantastic. So this little gem will be a series of semi-related short one shots that will more than likely stay funny or fluffy. And, like, okay...I feel like I have to apologize for making this multichapteral? Because personally, the likelihood of me reading a fic with even three chapters is VERY slim because I have no attention span for reading anymore. That's why I'm going to try to keep these short and sweet. If y'all are interested in future projects, I've got two more planned, both multichapteral. Again, I hope you stick around for them! 3

Disclaimer: I ONLY OWN A BURNING LOVE FOR THIS DUMB FANDOM THAT IS SLOWLY DESTROYING MY LIFE

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Chapter 1 - Drunk Philosophy

"Dammit, Pavel!" Jim Kirk pounded his fists on the table so violently that several of the black and white pawns toppled.

The Russian smiled angelically. "Checkmate, Keptin."

Bones and Sulu roared with victorious laughter as they collected the winnings of their bet from the crowd of unhappy barflies.

"You didn't even bet on me?" Jim yelped, staring indignantly at his longtime friend.

"Kid, please. It's just bad business sense to bet against Russian whizzes."

The crowd dispersed. Chekov collected his share of the winnings and slipped off in the direction of an attractive Bolian girl that had been eyeing him for a few hours. Jim grumbled mutinously into his fifth Samarian sunrise and shot sulky glares at the men very openly counting their haul.

"I see you lost," Spock commented, appearing from nowhere. "Perhaps it was unwise to try to play a game of wits while intoxicated."

Jim scowled sourly at him. "You're terrible at pep talks."

"I apologize. If it's any consolation, the odds were only slightly out of your favor."

Jim heaved a sigh and signaled a passing waitress for more alcohol. "I guess you're right," he mused. "Chekov's a damn genius. I don't know why I bothered. Probably the liquid courage."

"And you're cocky," Bones put in. "Spock's right, though. You probably could have beat him if you were sober. How many drinks does that make?"

"What's it to you, you traitor?"

"Because I'm the one who's gonna be holding your head out of the toilet while you throw up your guts," Bones snapped.

Jim stuck his tongue out.

The waitress came back with two more sunsets. Jim pushed one in front of Spock and started in on his own.

Spock slid the glass away and reminded him, "Vulcans are immune to the effects of alcohol."

"Ohhhh, Spock." Jim propped his head on his hand and regarded his friend with fuzzy fondness. "You're only _half_ Vulcan. That means you are fifty percent human and fifty percent able to get drunk."

"You have a tendency to overemphasize the dominance of my human heritage."

"You have a tendency to totally dismiss it. Being human is great! We can laugh and cry and scream and drink and not need any more of a reason than what we are. We're kind of like the highly-functioning pet species of the universe."

"That is an interesting comparison."

"I know." Jim giggled. "I get philosophical when I'm drunk."

Spock asked, "What is it like to be intoxicated? I can only infer so much through observation."

Jim hummed and closed his eyes. "It's like being in a room with broken artificial gravity. You can get around, but it's weird and tilty and hard. It's like being almost asleep, but you can still hear the music and people talking. It's like trying to walk when both your legs are asleep, and like trying to talk after having dental work done."

Spock processed this description. It was little like the technical symptoms he'd heard of, such as loss of coordination, speech impairment, and erratic behavior. He wondered why Jim didn't just list those signs.

"Imagining?" Jim inquired tranquilly.

"Pondering. Your description was very sensory and specific."

"Obviously."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

Jim grinned sleepily. "I doubt you would have gotten it if I'd've just told you I get off-balance and silly. But you know what it's like to move in zero gravity."

For what had to be more than the hundredth time, Spock was speechless. Jim was right. The idea of uncoordination carried little personal meaning for the Vulcan, but even he had been plagued by the clumsiness of numb limbs. Even drunk, Jim had managed to get through to him by appealing to sensations instead of science.

"'Atta boy," Jim mumbled when Spock lifted the untouched glass to his lips.


	2. The Perks of Being Human

I'd say I'm sorry for the delay, but lbr, it'll probably happen again. On a positive note, I'll probably be uploading more chapters today after these two. Thanks infinitely for all the lovely reviews and favorites. You guys are the best!

Disclaimer: No me ownsta.

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_in which Jim pays for that night of drinking_

Spock experienced an uncharacteristic and very human bout of tact when he decided not to comment on how undesirable he found the scene unfolding in front of him. As he watched, a spring of vague pity welled inside him. He sighed, knelt down, and picked Jim Kirk's head up off the toilet seat.

Jim groaned. "Bones?"

"Not exactly."

"Spock?" Jim's crumpled face managed some surprise. "What're you doin' here?"

"You left your communicator in the bar. I came to return it to you, but it seems you are otherwise occupied."

"It's called a ha-hang-"

Jim cut himself off with a stream of vomit. Spock moved out of the way of the flow but didn't drop his friend's head. He examined the corners of the ceiling until the heaving ceased.

"A hangover," Jim finished weakly.

"So I can see." Spock handed Jim a roll of toilet paper with which to wipe his face. "Perhaps you shouldn't drink so much."

Jim muttered something and flopped against the side of the tub. "Towels," he requested pathetically. "Hafta sleep here."

"That won't be very comfortable. I will help you to your bed."

"Nuh, don' bother. I'll just throw up everywhere."  
Spock lifted Jim anyway. He carried the blond to bed, ignoring the half-coherent grumbling. Jim flopped down the second he reached the safety of his mattress.

"I do hope you'll forgive me, Jim-"

"Ha, right, say what you want 'cuz I can't get you for it."

"-but you look awful."

"You better grab me a trashcan."

Spock complied immediately and once again averted his gaze. "Should I call Dr. McCoy?" he inquired.

"No, I-" Jim heaved particularly violently and groaned in genuine pain afterwards. "Call Bones. Call Bones."

It took exactly two minutes and six seconds after Spock ended the call for Bones to elbow his way through the door, already pulling out washcloths and hypos. The Vulcan observed the methodical way Bones checked his patient over, positioned the damp cloth, and (for once) gently administered a hypo spray.

"What did you _have_, Jim?" Bones asked, exasperated.

"Lots," Jim gasped. "Bad?"

Bones exhaled slowly. "If I ever have to treat you for liver failure, I'll kill you. I will kill you, Jim, do you hear me?"

Jim relaxed somewhat with his doctor present. He was covered in a sheet of sweat, and his eyes were half-closed. He sighed something and laid his head to the side.

"He's a pain in the ass," Bones said to Spock without looking away from his charge. "Doesn't know how to take care of himself. Or maybe he does, but I've been doing it for him so long that he doesn't bother anymore. Well, anyway..."

Bones rose and ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks for watching him, but it's gonna be a late night. Might as well get some sleep."

"I could say the same to you, Doctor. This is your vacation as well, and I am more naturally suited to go without sleep."

Bones frowned slightly. Spock did not blink. Jim gurgled in his sick-addled sleep. The pair glanced at him simultaneously and noticed the action in the other.

Spock almost smiled, and Bones quirked an eyebrow. "There's a chair over there," the latter said simply.

Spock sat patiently to await his shift.

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If I may fangirl over my own work, UGH BONES/SPOCK FRIENDSHIP I'M GONNA BE SICK I LOVE IT SO MUCH


	3. Karaoke

Yeah man, give it up for chapter three! I'll probably upload one or two more chapters today. :D

Disclaimer: No me ownsta.

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_in which Jim serenades the patrons of Club Zeta_

"Captain, may I ask you something?"

"Yeeees, Commander?" the blond invited after a huge gulp of Budweiser Classic.

"Are all humans incapable of learning from their mistakes, or is it just you?"

Bones was just drunk enough to laugh at that, and Jim was just sober enough to still be offended. "What _mistakes_?" he demanded indignantly.

"I held your head off the toilet seat last night." Sarcasm colored Spock's tone.

Jim wrinkled his nose. "You don't have to broadcast it to the whole bar."

"And yet here you are, indulging in the same destructive behaviour. It's almost fascinating."

"For your information, Spock, I _did_ learn. I'm going light tonight. I might have been out of it, but I distinctly remember a death threat from Bones, and in my altered state, it actually sounded serious."

"Damn right it was," Bones put in.

Jim finished the beer and pointedly asked for a water. He sipped it and made a face. "'M bored," he complained.

"Good," Bones replied. "That means I don't have to babysit tonight."

Jim drummed his fingers on the table. He scanned the room for any game, but he was really too sulky to flirt. He was considering calling it a night until he noticed an object of pure beauty.

He jumped up so fast that his stool teetered. Spock raised an eyebrow but didn't obstruct Jim's leaving. He figured if his captain could find something entertaining besides drinking, it would be a good night.

Enough time passed that a whiskey-soaked Bones noticed Jim's absence. "I should look for him," he said matter-of-factly, not moving a muscle to do so. "Ah, after this song. Classic. You like music, Spock?"

"Some kinds, yes. But I've never been treated to a live performance."

Bones followed Spock's gaze, then quickly downed the rest of his whiskey. "God help us all," he muttered.

Jim was in his natural habitat, the center of attention, which this time came in the form of a small stage on the far wall. A small band of girls had already flocked to the edge of the stage. Jim beamed down at them and twirled the mic in his hands.

Spock simply stared as Jim began the song. The words on the karaoke screen may as well hadn't been there for all the attention he paid to them. He was very on key, but predictably added his own twang and flair.

"Dr. McCoy, is this what is referred to as a miracle?"

"Oh yeah, it's a miracle, all right." Bones stretched and rose. "I wouldn't believe he's a real person if I didn't know him. Come on."

The pair joined the growing crowd at the foot of the stage. It was shaping up to be a miniature concert. Some people had lit the screens of their communicators and were waving them back and forth like lighters. Girls squealed and reached onto the stage for a touch from the main attraction. And, of course, Jim loved it.

A curly head popped up over the crowd, supported by two shoulders. Bones couldn't and could believe that Scotty and Sulu would let Chekov get drunk. Chekov shouted something in Russian and flailed his arms. Jim was laughing so hard he almost dropped the song.

"Sing it with me!" Jim hollered, pointing to the gathering. "C'mon!"

Many different voices rose as one to chant the well-known chorus: "Whoa, we're halfway there-whoa-oh! Livin' on a prayer! Take my hand, we'll make it, I swear-whoa-oh! Livin' on a prayer!"

Spock noticed Bones cross his arms, close his eyes, and smile. He thought he understood why: despite the high-energy atmosphere and all the dancing and screaming, Spock felt deeply at peace.

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I originally started this thing because Jim. Now I'm falling into the abyss of Bones/Spock friendship and nothing hurts. Yet.


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